under new york city
by clexation
Summary: Lucas is lost and confused, Zay is bored and somewhat nosy, Riley is overwhelmed with trying to keep her friend under control, and Maya just wants to smoke. — Lucas/Maya [ON HIATUS]
1. all our demons

**Under New York City**

 **I.** _ **All Our Demons**_

 _(Streetlights and subways got nothing on us.)_

* * *

The first time he sees her, he's moving into his room at NYU. He's struggling — trying to balance the hideous purple lamp his mother gave him in one arm and a box full of old photographs in the other. His door's almost open when she steps out from the room right across the hall. She's short and blonde, all made up in dark red lipstick and thick, fluttering eyelashes. And jesus, it's like an angel walking past.

He drops his key and has to set everything down to retrieve it.

When he looks back up, she's gone.

.

.

The next time he sees her, she's trying to sneak out. He watches, fascinated, as she closes her door as silently as possible. A red and black flannel hangs over her shoulder. Her black t-shirt is cropped at the bottom, like it used to be a dress. Her denim shorts are stained with paint, ripped over the pockets like someone's been clawing at them.

She sees him watching her and puts a finger to her lips, smoothly nodding to her dorm.

 _Shh._

.

.

He's too shy to ask people about her. Nobody seems to notice her, anyway, which confuses him.

(How do people not see this angel?)

.

.

She disappears for a week, and he begins to think she might have just been an illusion. He doesn't know her, and he can't exactly go over there and ask to see her. He doesn't even know who her roommate is, much less if they'd tell him anything about her.

 _Hi, I'm Lucas Friar. I'm looking for your blonde friend 'cause I think she's gorgeous. In a totally non-creepy way._

.

.

He doesn't know why he's being like this. He's never even met the damn girl. Why does she make his heart beat overtime whenever he sees her? Why does he get some anxious when she disappears? He doesn't know.

His roommate, Zay, seems to think he's always like this. "Naturally lovesick," he'd said. Was that what Lucas looked like? Lovesick? How can you be lovesick for someone you've never met? He doesn't know.

(He doesn't seem to know anything anymore.)

.

.

He lives to categorize.

Everything has a pile. Everything has a place. His world is black and white, and sometimes gray. And that's the way he likes it. Normal. Orderly. Predictable.

So why is it that she's so enchanting? He doesn't know where to put her. Mysteries, romances, crushes, he doesn't know. Future friends, maybe? Or something else...

He's tried so fucking hard to place her. But she's untouchable, and he isn't brave enough to make an attempt.

.

.

The first time he hears her talk, he's hypnotized. Doesn't even hear what she said; he's too focused on how different her voice sounds. He hadn't expected it to be that deep. Still, it's nice. Strong, yet femenine, and something else...

…and then he realizes she's asking him to move, and in a tornado of mumbled apologies and sheepish glances he shuffles out of her way.

(All she wanted to do was get her coat, for fucks sake.)

.

.

She is black and white and gray all at once.

She's breaking all the rules, really.

He never even learned her name.

.

.

Christ, she's killing him.

He'd stand in that hallway forever just to hear her voice again.

.

.

He honestly doesn't mean to watch her.

What kind of creepy stalker does that make him? Following the every move of some blonde he's seen a handful of times, trying to find a way to meet her? No, he would never _mean_ to watch her.

That doesn't mean he doesn't wait by the ashtray, knowing she's the only one on their floor who smokes. Or spend thirty minutes tying his shoe outside his door incase she walks by.

(She never does, but that doesn't stop him from trying.)

.

.

He never has the balls to start a conversation, so she starts one for him.

It's six am, and they're both just off campus, her with a cig between her fingers, and him with no reason to be there.

"You come out here a lot?"

He almost laughs - she sounds so much like Vanessa. Instead, he smiles and nods.

"I like to watch the birds." He explains.

"Yeah." She blows smoke into the air. "Birds have it pretty good."

He turns to her, hoping the conversation will continue. "How so?"

"They can fly away whenever they want." She replies. "And I'm stuck here on the ground."

(They sit in silence until he gets cold and her cigarette runs out.)

.

.

She doesn't acknowledge him in the hallway the next morning, and (though he'd expected it) he was still disappointed. But one conversation doesn't mean they're friends, and he still doesn't know her name. So he goes out to the bench they'd talked on again in hopes of seeing her.

He waits for an hour and ends up being late to class.

.

.

He loses his camera. Damn, he hasn't even taken a photo since he got here.

.

.

It rains one week later, and he finds her sulking just outside her door.

"Hey." He greets. She nods at him, keeping her eyes trained on the floor.

"Too wet to smoke?" He asks. She nods again, this time in confirmation. He pauses for a second before sitting next to her, back pressed against her doorframe. It's a few minutes before she finally speaks.

"How do birds survive?"

.

.

She knocks on his door a few hours later, holding the beanie he'd lost a week ago. He invites her in for coffee, but she shakes her head.

"I don't drink coffee." She explains. "Still trying to grow."

He nods, quietly looking at her small frame. After a few seconds, she looks up at him.

"Tea?" He asks.

(They talk for a whole thirty minutes, and though he learns a lot about her, he forgets to ask her name.)

.

.

He knows she likes to draw.

She likes all kinds of art, really. Her jeans are stained with different shades, and sometimes she comes in with chalk streaks across her cheeks.

He can see her from his window, sketching something. Tangled branches obscure his view as she shifts to admire her work. When he manages to move the branches, she's gone again.

.

.

The first round of tests bring stress to their whole floor, but open a new topic of conversation for him and his roommate. It's been a bit awkward thus far; they haven't been the friendliest of friends. Zay struggles with his tests even more than Lucas himself does.

His laptop dies, and he has to push past a pile of textbooks to get to the charger. Zay looks up as Lucas knocks a pile of books onto his bed.

"Damn these tests." Zay curses.

"Damn this school." Lucas agrees.

And they both fall back into their studies.

.

.

He finds his first job at a coffee shop just next to his building. It's the perfect deal; work a little, get paid, and take his mind off some other things. He's worked there less than an hour when she shows up, classic red flannel tied around her waist. Her running shorts expose her pale, gorgeous, infinitely long legs, and he has to rip his eyes away to take her order.

"I thought you didn't drink coffee." He said.

"I don't." She scanned the assortment of pastries and breakfast bars. "I'll take a blueberry muffin."

He brings her the muffin and she chats with him at the counter between customers.

(They talk about her artwork and his photography. They're kind of the same thing, really.)

.

.

He finds his camera buried under a pile of dirty clothes. His old photos seem blurry and ridiculous now, so he walks back out to his bench to wait for the birds.

.

.

He wakes up at midnight to the sound of electronica blaring ridiculously loudly. He knows it's her, so he just turns over and presses the pillows over his ears, wondering why someone as beautiful as her would ever listen to something like _that_.

The noise fades as his clock turns to 2:00 am, and he's almost asleep when he hears someone slam the door. And even though he's only wearing his boxers and a cut up tee, he decides to go sit with her.

.

.

He's getting tired of calling her "the girl next door". It doesn't really suit her, anyway. She's more of a mystery to him than ever, now.

.

.

They find each other on the bench overlooking the park again. She's smoking (when is she _not_ smoking?) and he's trying to get a couple good pictures before the sun rises.

"More photography?"

And with that, the bird he'd been trying to capture flies off, startled. He snaps a picture quickly, trying to get _something_ , but even without looking he knows it'll be absolute crap.

"Can't it wait?" He asks, lowering his camera. She just smiles, pressing her cherry red lips against her cig again.

"Sorry." She actually _does_ look a little sorry. She blows a cloud of smoke, lowering her cigarette. The mouthpiece is painted crimson.

He frowns. He can't stay mad at her; he can't even _be_ mad at her, no matter how hard he tries. Instead of being mad, he raises his camera, taking in the lipstick staining the white smoke. She smiles, holding still as he takes his picture.

.

.

Six months later, and she's drunk again. He can smell the alcohol on her breath. It's nauseating.

She's singing beautifully off-key, slurring and mixing up the words. After a few minutes her song turns to quiet humming, then ceases altogether.

"Lucas?" She slurs.

"I'm right here." He answers, pulling her into the elevator.

"Good." She plants a small kiss on his cheek, but he knows she's just highly intoxicated.

That doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy it.

"Guess what I'm doing this summer." She pokes at his chest.

He shrugs. "Smoking? Painting?"

"Both!" She exclaims loudly. "And then I'm going to the mountains, cause Riley's always wanted to go there, and I'm gonna bring her with me. And you can come too, if you want."

"Yeah, yeah." He leads her into the hall. "Whatever you say, Maya."

They arrive at her room, and he knocks twice before returning his attention to her. She smiles, and he could just _die_.

Riley opens the door, frowning as she takes in her friend. "Oh, no. Not this again."

"Honey!" Maya reaches out, almost falling down. Lucas and Riley both dive down to catch her, their heads knocking together.

"Ow." Riley pulls up, hand on her forehead.

"Sorry." Lucas apologizes, pulling Maya back up onto his shoulder.

"That's okay. Just set her down over there." Riley steps aside, jerking her chin towards a mess of blankets and crumpled pieces of paper. Lucas obligingly drags Maya towards the bed.

"Night, Maya." He lets himself watch her for a few seconds before slipping back into his room.

(It's been an interesting eight months).

.

.

She's always been easy to read.

From the first conversation, he's always been able to tell how she's feeling. Angry, sad, depressed, drunk, hung over, drunk again, and sometimes (rarely) happy.

So why is it so hard to tell now?

She sits alone on their bench, hand wrapped loosely around an empty box of cigarettes. He can't tell if she sees him or not, but if she does, she's doing a damn good job of hiding it. Her fur coat keeps falling off her shoulders, and eventually she stops shrugging it back on. Her lips are painted yet another shade of red, this time a dark maroon.

He shivers as the almost-summer breeze brushes past. He hadn't thought to bring a coat.

"Have a seat, cowboy." She says monotonously. So he does.

And that's all he needs to do.

.

.

He's been filling his SD card so quickly, he's beginning to think he has a problem. Even his phone is filled with pictures of stained cigarettes and childish chalk drawings.

Things that reminded him of her.

.

.

She told him she'd never been much good at saying goodbye. That she preferred to leave quickly, a clean break, like ripping a bandage off.

So why was he so surprised when she left?

.

.

"Hey, Riley." Lucas greets as she opens her door.

"Hey." Riley smiles, but her lips tug down at the corners.

"Is Maya there?" He asks.

"Maya's… not really available right now." Riley replied. "Sorry."

(He should've just charged past. It would have been his last look at her.)

.

.

He knocks on her door the next day, only to be greeted by a new face. A tall redhead whose hair seems to take up more space than her body.

"Hey." She says.

"Hey. Hi." He looks around. "Is Maya in there?"

The redhead shakes her head and clucks her tongue. "She didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

Riley suddenly appears in the doorframe. "Hey, Lucas."

"He's here for Maya." The redhead informs her.

"I know who he's here for." Riley replies. "Come inside."

.

.

His heart breaks over strong, black coffee. The kind he knows she hates.

"Maya transferred to Cali." Riley explaines. "She left this morning."

(And fuck you, you blonde, angelic mess.)

.

.

He tries drawing, like she used to do. He tries painting, charcoal, and chalk art.

.

.

He buys a pack of cigarettes. They sit on top of his dresser, untouched.

.

.

He tries electronica. He tries Skrillex and Nanobii. He tries all her favorite songs.

.

.

He buys all the blueberry muffins his job has to offer.

.

.

Screw it all. He can't bring her back.


	2. guardians of stars and sparks

**Under New York City**

 **II. Guardians of Sparks and Stars**

 _(She blinks and he's there; she blinks again and she's gone.)_

* * *

The first time she sees him, she feels bad for not helping as he struggles with his key. He's tall, much taller than her, and his hair is just a few shades darker than gold. He's got a godawful lamp balanced in the crook of his arm, and a box full of papers - photos, maybe - balanced precariously on his other. He's almost got the key into the door when she steps out. He glances up, green eyes widening a little as he takes her in.

She scurries off and leaves him to open the door on his own. This is college, after all. Not a fucking charity.

.

.

Riley's got her on a strict alcohol ban, which means she has to sneak out to get her drinks. And he's out there again, just watching her. She doesn't know him at all, though, and she's not sure if he's the kind to rat her out or keep a secret. He says nothing. Just watches as she silently closes the door behind her. She turns back to him, quickly placing a finger to her lips. He nods, though she's sure he doesn't understand what's happening.

He seems like the oblivious type.

She brushes past him, slipping down the stairs towards the closest bar off campus.

(She comes home with a fuzzy head and wobbly, unsure movements, but she's happy.)

.

.

Her worst habit would have to be smoking.

She can't stop and she doesn't bother trying, though Riley's begged her on multiple occasions. She's not quite addicted, but she knows she'd never admit it if she was. She just likes watching the smoke wisp away, and the feel of the burning cigarette end inches from her lips. She likes watching her lipstick rub off on the mouthpiece as she exhales clouds of smoky heaven.

Riley still begs her to stop, and they both know that it won't work. She knows her friend has a point ( _it causes lung cancer, Maya_ or _it may not do anything now, but it's always bad down the road_ ) but she also knows that she maybekindof _slightly_ needs this to get through the day, and if she's dying slowly anyway, the least she can do is make herself happy.

.

.

Happiness is scarce with her. It comes in little moments. Watching Riley flirt aimlessly with the college boys, showing her own work to other street artists, and taking her morning runs (though they've started to slip to mid-afternoon. She's never been a morning person.)

It still feels like something's missing, though. She misses the time when all it took to keep her happy was Riley by her side and a paintbrush in her hand, but those times are over. Long gone.

.

.

She's sick, so _so_ sick, and miserable, because this was the week she was supposed to visit her mom. But she's got a fever, and she doesn't trust her stomach enough to drive anywhere or do anything. Riley's got a shitload of schoolwork, and Maya doesn't want to cause any trouble. So she sleeps the week away under her blanket with a bowl of microwave popcorn and her childhood teddy bear, Tedward.

(Life's a bitch when she returns to the world. She thinks that was to be expected, though.)

.

.

The classes are never ending, and she feels aimless. There's no excitement in her life until she finds herself off campus again. Smoking, of course, because that's about the only reason she goes away from her dorm and school area anymore. And he's there, watching birds and squirrels fight over pieces of food hidden in the damp grass. And she wants to say something, but she doesn't even know him, really. The only time she's ever talked to him was to ask to get her coat, and even then, he didn't reply. Just moved aside.

She kicks herself for being so stupid. He's just a stupid guy, and she's just broken up with her jerk of a boyfriend Billy. That's why she's so nervous around him, she figures. He's a boy and she's newly single.

But she has no trouble talking with Farkle over the phone, a fact she chooses to ignore in favor of believing her theory.

.

.

Fuck, fuck, jesus _fuck_ he's everywhere now. She doesn't even know his motherfucking _name_ and she's already hyperaware. What kind of freaky boy-obsessed little girl does this make her? She hates it, every minute of it, because she just wants to get through college, get a steady job, and put her art out. _He_ was never part of the equation.

But her eyes always drift to him when he's in the room, and sometimes she catches his eye. She always looks away quickly, heat rising in her cheeks, but it doesn't stop her from doing it again.

.

.

The first time they talk, she's smoking on her bench. He sits beside her, and she tries not to laugh as his brows crease in concentration, trying to think of a way to start a conversation.

"You come out here a lot?"

He breaks into a smile, and she raises her brows.

"I like to watch the birds." He answers.

She nods and blows smoke. "Yeah, birds have it pretty good."

"How so?"

She shrugs and takes another drag from her cigarette. "They can fly away whenever they want. And I'm stuck here on the ground."

(Eventually the air grows too cold and they have to retreat back to their dorms.)

.

.

She sees him in the hallway the next morning. He watches her walk past, and she _wants_ to start a conversation, she does. But she doesn't know what to say to him, so she walks past without a word. His eyes follow her as she turns the corner.

.

.

Riley drags her outside to a little coffee shop. She's never liked coffee (she's in college and still five fucking one, so no coffee for her) but she orders one anyway, to keep her friend happy. Farkle's visiting for the day, and they all hang out and relax.

She thinks the day would be perfect if she didn't know it would have to end soon, but enjoys it anyway. Because hell, she's earned a little happiness, and she can't bring herself to say no to her lifelong best friends.

.

.

The week ahead brings rain and misery. And she's too tired to go anywhere, and all she really wants to do is smoke on her bench.

He finds her leaning against her doorframe, pack of cigarettes jammed in her back pocket. She flicks her lighter wistfully as he stops next to her. He says something, and it takes her a few seconds for her to realize who he's talking to.

"Too wet to smoke?" He questions. She nods, glancing outside at the godawful raindrops clinging to the glass.

They stand in silence for a few minutes before she asks, "How do birds survive?"

Hours later, she finds a greenish beanie with his name scrawled on the tag, hidden beneath her fur coat. She brings it across the hall to him, knocking timidly on his stained wood door. He opens it, looking a bit confused when he sees her. She holds his beanie up for him to see.

"Ah, thanks." He smiles. "Want any coffee?"

She smiles and shakes her head, handing him the hat. "No, thanks. I don't drink coffee."

He looks at her, confused. "Still trying to grow." She explains quickly.

He grunts in understanding, hesitating before offering her tea. She smirks softly and agrees, and they spend the next half hour getting to know each other.

(She learns his name, but he never asks hers.)

.

.

He's always there when she comes back from her art class. Her clothes are smudged with paint and lead, but he never comments on it. In exchange she lets him see her artwork, and they both talk over his love of photography.

She's yet to see his pictures, but she swears she'll make him show her soon. He promises he will, and she surprises herself by believing him.

.

.

They both disappear during testing week. Riley slaves over her philosophy homework while Maya focuses on her own studies. The day before, they'd stocked their mini fridge with vodka, diet coke and yogurt, and their cupboards with saltines and instant ramen packages.

"My brain is dead." Riley complains, taking another drink.

"My brain is about to commit suicide." Maya laughs. "Seriously, what does any of this prove?"

"Maya," Riley steps away from her desk to inspect her friend's work. "This proves that we are ready to be in college!"

Maya stares. Shakes her head. "Yeah, I'm not so sure you are."

"Come _on_." Riley sticks her pencil in their sharpener. "Let's just get them over with, and then I can go back to reading, and you can do…" She trailed off.

"Whatever I do?"

"Exactly!"

.

.

She's surprised when she finds him working the counter at her favorite coffee shop. She's wearing running shorts and her favorite flannel, and she smirks as she catches him admiring her legs.

"I thought you didn't drink coffee." He states.

"I don't." She smiles smugly, looking over the pastry case. Her eyes land on a row of blueberry muffins, and she smiles, pointing to the glass. "I'll take a blueberry muffin."

He grabs the muffin, stuffing it in a bag and placing it in her waiting hands.

"So what are you doing here?" He asks.

"This is my favorite coffee shop. And this," She takes a bite of her muffin, "is my favorite thing to eat here."

"Cool." He smiles goofily, handing a coffee to a random customer. "I just got a job here."

"I noticed." She takes another bite. "So, what do you need money for?"

"The usual. Gas, food, camera film…"

"Camera film? Don't you have a digital?"

He smiles. "Yeah, I've got an A-6500. But I've also got a Pentax ME."

(She's skeptical at first, but he shows her the small gray camera after his shift.)

.

.

She's never had any tolerance for caffeine. Give her sugar, alcohol, anything else, but caffeine has always kept her up.

It's both a blessing and a curse, she thinks, but right now it's just torture. Because it's the middle of the night, she's got an essay due the next day, and she can't focus. Dubstep blasts from her speakers.

"Maya." Riley rolls over, pressing the pillow over her ears.

"Sorry." Maya shuts the music down, waiting till she hears Riley's breathing return to normal before she slips out. The door slips from her hand and slams against the frame, and she freezes, fear rising in her throat as her anxiety forces her heart to flutter in her chest. Thankfully, Riley doesn't follow her outside, and she sinks down against the doorframe.

Minutes later, Lucas finds her staring straight ahead in a caffeinated daze.

.

.

He still doesn't know her name, and she's not really sure how to tell him. _Hey, by the way, my name's Maya. You know, in case you were wondering._

.

.

They're both on their bench. He's taking photos (when is he _not_ taking photos?) and she's smoking again, staining the mouthpiece with her cherry red lips.

"More photography?" She asks. His target, a small brown bird, flies off before he can take a picture, and he grunts in annoyance.

"Can't it wait?" He asks, voice harsh. She winces, but quickly recovers.

"Sorry." She says. And she means it, she really does. She just hopes he can tell.

The anger melts off his face, but the frown remain. His eyes drift down to her hands, lips turning back up as he takes in her lipstick-stained cig. He raises the camera to his eye, and she knowingly holds still as he takes the picture.

"Hey, what's your name, anyway?"

.

.

She loves hanging out with him. Sure, Riley's fun, and Farkle's funny, but Lucas is something else. He's serious, unlike her other friends. And he doesn't scream at her to stop smoking or tease her for her height (okay, he did, but it was _one time_ ). His roommate, Zay, is always either flirting with her or teasing Lucas about her, a fact she holds above his head every time she visits.

"Lucas," Zay calls, smirking at Maya. "Your girlfriend's here."

"She's not my girlfriend." Lucas mutters.

"Whatever you say, man."

(He winks at Maya and walks off, leaving her with a very flustered Lucas.)

.

.

She's found that it's extremely fun to tease him. So she calls him nicknames, recites Texas stereotypes, does whatever she can in an attempt to break him.

One day he calls her short, and she refuses to talk to him for the rest of the week.

(She secretly likes it when he calls her "pancakes.")

.

.

She paints for days, weeks, months, and he stops by to watch her almost every day. She doesn't dare paint him (not while he's there, anyway) but she paints things that remind her of him.

"A blueberry muffin?"

"I just really like muffins."

"And what about the cowboy hat?"

(She doesn't have an answer for that one.)

.

.

A few months later, she slightly remembers being dragged home from some party hosted by NYU's two biggest frats. She wakes up the next morning to threats and warnings from Riley about alcohol poisoning and drunk driving.

"I didn't even drive!" She protests.

"Well what if a drunk driver hit _you_?" Riley counters.

"Riles, that doesn't even make sense." She rolls her eyes. "A drunk driver could hit me anytime."

Riley huffs, annoyed. "You're just lucky Lucas was there to take you home."

"Lucas was there?" Maya shakes her head. "Lucas wasn't there."

Riley shrugs. "Lucas brought you home. Who knows? Maybe he likes you."

.

.

She doesn't tell him when she receives a transfer invitation from California. She doesn't tell anyone. Not yet, anyway.

.

.

Gammy Hart finally dies, and she's crushed. She tells her teachers she's too sick to come to class before escaping to her spot on the bench. She doesn't know how long she sits there, but the sun's high in the sky when Lucas finds her. She doesn't acknowledge him, but he stands behind her anyway.

"Have a seat, cowboy." She says, voice steady, thank god. He sits beside her and she leans closer to him, dropping the empty box she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

(He comes with her to Gammy's funeral, and they mourn together quietly.)

.

.

California's pressing her to make her decision. Katy thinks she should transfer, and Riley hasn't shared an opinion, claiming she didn't want to "influence your decision." And she wants to go, she really does. But she doesn't know if she wants to leave her life behind.

She doesn't want to leave Riley. She really doesn't want to leave Lucas.

.

.

She's shit at saying goodbye, but Riley's always made it easier. So they hug and say goodbye, swearing to see each other again soon. Tears are shed and promises are made, and she leaves the next morning without a word to anyone.

.

.

She thinks it might be wrong to leave without saying goodbye. But she can't really turn the airplane around, and she doesn't know what she would say.

.

.

She gets to California and buys a film camera. A Pentax K1000. Just because.

.

.

Her new roommate, someone named Sarah, welcomes her to the dorm with Katy Perry blasting from the speakers. So she leaves to find a new spot to smoke, but the campus is bigger there. When she finally reaches a bench far enough away, rain has begun to drip from the sky.

She doesn't even have any cigarettes with her, so the whole thing was pointless.

.

.

She stops by Starbucks to grab something to eat. There's no blueberry muffins (hell, no blueberry _anything_ ) so she takes a chocolate croissant instead. The barista doesn't talk with her; just hands her the pastry and holds his hand out for the money.

She throws the croissant away on her way out.

.

.

It's been two weeks, and she still hasn't gotten around to buying a damn pack of cigarettes. She's nauseous, sweaty, and her head seems to be hellbent on killing her slowly. She never thought it would be this bad.

(She knows she needs to quit, though.)

.

.

She wakes up to her Skrillex ringtone, groaning and rolling over to grab her phone.

"Hey." She grunts, pulling herself into a sitting position.

"Hey, it's Riley."

"Riley? What do you need? It's, like, three in the morning over here."

"Yeah, I know. Lucas wanted to talk to you."

Maya straightened. "Lucas?"

"Here, I'll put him on."

There's rustling at the other end, then Lucas's voice.

"Hey."

Maya smiles. "Hey."


	3. scarlet hearts

**Under New York City**

 **III.** _ **Scarlet Hearts**_

 _(He'd be lying if he said he'd moved on right away.)_

* * *

The day she comes back, Lucas wakes up to the sound of his phone buzzing on the coffee table next to him. He's used to it by now; Riley likes to wake him with good morning texts and pictures of small dogs stuck in teacups or flower pots. This morning, though, there's no cutesy faces emoticons greeting him. Instead, there's only one text made up of two sentences.

 _maya's back. NY airport._

He jumps out of bed, throwing on the same clothes he'd worn the day before (what college student really changes their clothes, anyway?) and sprints downstairs to the coffee shop he works at to pick up a blueberry muffin.

.

.

The airport is crowded and smells like old shoes and window cleaner. The people in the waiting area wander around aimlessly, chatting quietly on their cellphones and biting into cheap airport food.

When he sees her, he almost doesn't recognize her with the red in her hair. Streaks of auburn run from her roots to her tips, falling over her shoulders in a mess of gold curls. It's been a long flight - the dark bags under her eyes scream of exhaustion - but still she smiles up at him.

"Hey, Huckleberry." She smirks, and he has to remind himself not to roll his eyes at her old nickname for him.

"Hey, shortie." He smirks. She bats his arm playfully, scowling in faux anger. He has to lean down for her to hug him properly. He hasn't realized how much he's grown since he last saw her.

.

.

It's hard not to love her, and he'd be lying if he said he'd moved on right away. But after all, he's an attractive male student in a college full of crazy girls. Riley shoots him disapproving looks when he comes back from his date with Missy Bradford. Maya rolls her eyes and makes some offhanded comment about the light pink lipstick on his cheek.

Riley stares at her best friend sadly, but Maya refuses to meet her eyes.

Huh.

He never thought he'd be the heartbreaker.

.

.

As the days drag on, he finds it harder and harder to connect with the small blonde. Her new schedule is different than her old one, and it seems like whenever he makes the time to visit her she's in class, or crashing from some party she hadn't bothered to invite him to.

He knows she's not pushing him away. She hasn't seen him in forever. Who cares what she does in her free time? Who cares if she doesn't want to hang out with him?

"You do," Zay had reminded him when he voiced his thoughts. "Come on, man. Why can't you just admit that you like her?"

"I have a girlfriend, idiot." Lucas replied.

"I know that, idiot. I'm just sayin'."

.

.

"Lucas."

"Riley."

"Sundance."

"Maya."

The tension is thicker than his leather cowboy boots.

.

.

In the next week he finds himself spending more and more time outside, away from the dorms, away from the girls. Zay has proven to be a loyal friend - a loyal friend with major connections. The two go to more bars than everyone else. More, even, than Maya used to sneak into (he thinks, anyway).

He meets new people. He drinks around.

He's restless and tired and angry and sad all at once.

.

.

There's an opening for a managerial position at the coffee shop, but he doesn't bother applying. He doesn't have the time, or (frankly) the energy for any more work.

.

.

The day they reconnect, he walks back into his dorm, expecting to be alone. Instead, he's greeted with a familiar brunette lounging on his bed, playing on her phone.

"Riley."

"Hey."

"Hi."

"Hey."

There's an awkward stretch of silence.

"Can I help you?"

Riley sighs heavily. "Have you talked to Maya yet?"

"No?" Lucas raises his eyebrows in confusion. "What happened to Maya?"

.

.

He doesn't bother knocking. There's no sound coming from inside the room as he pauses and takes a deep breath.

"Maya, I'm coming in."

The dorm is strangely clean, save for a pile of blankets obscuring the short stack of pancakes he'd so desperately missed.

"Maya?"

Her small hands appear, pulling the blanket down under her chin. Her left eye is swollen shut, decorated with a dark purple bruise. She's got a broken lip, and her uninjured eye is puffy and red from crying. Of course, Riley had warned him about what had happened, but no amount of warning could have prepared him for this.

He stares. Opens his mouth, closes it. Repeats the process.

Her lips stretch into a pained smile. "You look like a dying fish."

He shakes his head. "Where is he?"

.

.

Lucas didn't even know she was dating anyone. When Riley told him what happened, he almost didn't believe it. "Maya can take care of herself," he had said. "There's no way any guy could ever take advantage of her."

"Technically, Josh didn't _take advantage_ of her." Riley had replied. "Not like that, anyway. He may be a bad guy, but he's not exactly a rapist, either."

"Well," Lucas thought for a second. "What _did_ he do?"

.

.

The next morning he's in Josh's face. The stupid senior has at least six inches on him, but he's as strong as a horse and as mad as a bull.

"You beat up Maya!" He yells.

"I don't know what you're talking about, man." Josh says, panicked.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. You tried to get her to _fuck_ you two days ago, and when she wouldn't do it you started smacking her around like some worthless punching bag."

"You don't know what you're talking about! Yeah, I wanted to have sex with her, but I never beat anyone up."

Lucas slowly lowers Josh's arm from where it was pinned against the wall. He holds the senior's gloved hand in front of his face.

"Nice gloves." He mumbles, smirking. "Kind of early for winter wear, though, isn't it?"

He doesn't even have to take off the gloves to know what's under them. He does anyway, though, and the look on Josh's face when his bruised knuckles are revealed is enough to make him let go without a second thought.

.

.

Lucas pulls Maya out of her slump, and in exchange she makes him happy. He stops going to bars so much. He doesn't need the alcohol anymore.

She paints him pictures. Sunsets and cityscapes, and space age technology with no defined purpose. The colors are beautiful. Red and white and gold over a glowing forest. A streak of purple in the darkening night. He keeps every painting in a box under his bed.

They're pieces of her, he thinks. Each one is a small bit of who she is.

.

.

Missy ends up dumping him for Billy Ross.

He's not as heartbroken as he thought he'd be, though.

Funny how that works.

.

.

He starts to join her on her morning run. She's a bit surprised the first time he shows up, but he makes up some excuse about needing more exercise, and she doesn't overthink it.

She hasn't changed her style much, still wearing her tattered flannel and cutoff tee. But it's too cold now for her old denim shorts.

(Winter is coming.)

.

.

He drives her home for the holidays. It's not far, but he insists on making sure she makes it there without incident. He's got no real family to celebrate with, so she invites him to stay for dinner.

Her mom is nice, yet slightly flustered. Maya seems happy, though.

"Maya, it's nice to have you back for Christmas." Katy Hart glances around the table a bit nervously. "I thought you would've been with the Matthews again."

Maya pushes her food around her plate guiltily. "Well I haven't seen you in a while, and besides, the Matthews are in Hawaii for Christmas."

Lucas raises his eyebrow. Riley and her parents are still in New York. Maya just stares at him, silently pleading with him to play along.

He nods, then looks back to Maya's mother. "Thank you for having me."

Maya mouths a grateful _thank you_ while Katy nods appreciatively. "Well, thank you for driving my baby girl home."

He smiles. "My pleasure."

.

.

He notices her fidgeting, staring at a man smoking outside the dorms.

Which reminds him.

"When did you stop?"

"Um…" She looks a bit more relaxed, knowing she can acknowledge the smoking. "I haven't yet, completely. But I'm getting better."

He nods thoughtfully before ushering her past the smoker, back to her room.

.

.

One week before his birthday he has a complete meltdown. The academic work is too challenging, and there's another round of tests coming up. And his job at the coffee shop is going nowhere, and he's bored and he doesn't want to work there any more, even if it means no more blueberry muffins for Maya.

He drinks and cries and screams and throws pillows at his wall. He doesn't want to grow up. He doesn't want to be twenty one. He wants to keep dreaming like the little boy who rode that sheep back in Texas.

He hates his photography, he hates his job. He hates his classes, his teachers, his clothes, his homework, everything everything _everything_.

He finds every picture he's ever printed, throws them all into a box and shoves it under his bed.

That's when he sees it.

The Maya box.

Every piece of art she'd ever given him.

(He spends hours looking over every single one.)

.

.

His birthday is on a Saturday this year. He wakes up to find Maya reading quietly at the foot of his bed, a tray of food set beside her.

She turns her head to check on him.

"Oh, Huckleberry. You're up. I made you food."

He sits halfway up to examine the tray. "This is cereal and a bowl of fruit."

She huffs. "Well I couldn't do anything else without burning down the entire campus."

He smirks and starts eating.

"I got you a birthday present." Maya says.

"Oh yeah?" He doesn't look up from his cereal.

"Yeah, dummy." She replies, throwing a haphazardly wrapped box on the bed in front of him. "Open it."

He looks at her dubiously before slowly setting down his spoon, removing the green and blue wrapping paper carefully, as if the present is a bomb he needs to defuse. When he gets past the wrapping, though, there's no bomb. In it's place is a brand new DSLR camera.

.

.

They start holding hands. He doesn't really know when it happens. Just that it does.

(Zay gives him so much crap…)

.

.

Maya gets one of his shirts. He doesn't know how. She just walks into his dorm one day, still blinking sleep from her eyes. Lucas smirks at her.

"Nice shirt." He says, nodding to the blue _Don't Mess With Texas_ sweater hanging loosely around her shoulders. She looks down, confused, before waving him off dismissively.

She falls asleep on the couch and he takes the opportunity to try out his new camera.

.

.

He knows her.

He knows her better than almost everyone. Better, even, than Riley, he thinks.

She has to keep things from Riley. Not everything. Just the things too dark for Rileytown.

Things like her mom's dumb boyfriend, her lack of faith in humanity, and the age old scars on her wrist. Rileytown can't handle these things.

(He's become a resident member of Mayaville. The dark is a nice change of scenery.)

.

.

It happens in the most cliche of places.

He's supposed to be picking her up from the third annual Gamma Gamma Nu "End of the World" party. She's not out front, and she's well past tipsy when he finds her - her eyes are wide and her shoes are tied to her purse with what appears to be someone's torn thong. She's spinning under the stars when he finally gets through the horde of drunk, hormonal college girls to drag her away.

She stumbles and falls on the way to the car, and he ends up throwing her over his shoulder. Her yellow miniskirt flutters in the wind, and he thanks god she's managed to keep her own underwear in one piece.

"Ranger Rick?" She slurs as he sets her in his car.

"Whaddaya want, shortstack?"

"Can I tell you a secret?"

He starts the ignition, keeping his eyes off her seductive smile. "Sure."

"I have a crush."

The engine sputters as he releases the clutch too suddenly. He takes a second to compose himself before trying again.

"You wanna know who it is?"

He sighs, but stays silent.

She giggles and kicks her feet against the dashboard. "You're jealous."

He frowns. "Am not."

"Yes you are!" She squeals and laughs like he's the funniest man alive.

"No, I'm not. I'm tired, and I have homework, yet I still came to pick you up."

She stares at him for a second before yawning. "Don't worry, Huckleberry. I think you'd like him."

He glances over at her. Her eyelids are drooping, her head lolling tiredly to the side.

"What's his name?"

She yawns again, eyelids drooping further. "His name is Lucas, Lucas." She giggles again. "Lucas, Lucas."

(He drives her back, dumbfounded, listening to her soft snore.)

.

.

It's two am.

It's two am and he's still up.

It's two am and he's struggling with his thoughts.

It's been two hours since the party, two hours since Maya revealed her feelings.

He knows she likes him. And he thinks he likes her, too.

He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want anything to change.

(But at the same time, he does.)

.

.

Of course she wouldn't remember any of it.

She walks stiffly into his dorm the next morning, wearing a baggy sweatshirt (he's pretty sure it was his at one point) and the darkest sunglasses he's ever seen. He stares at her expectantly.

She looks up to meet his gaze. "Huckleberry?"

He blinks. She doesn't remember. "Sorry. Zoned out."

She just shrugs and falls onto his couch.

.

.

He'd be lying if he said he'd moved on right away. After all, he's an attractive male in a campus full of crazy girls. But she lights him up like nobody else.

Of course, he's always loved her crazy laugh, and the way her eyes sparkled when she made fun of him. He loves how she can capture anything in a few pencil strokes. He loves how she prefers pen to pencil when she handwrites things, claiming that it looks more professional, though her handwriting ruins any aspect of professionality, in his opinion. He even loves her angry side - the fierce, wild one that only comes out when somebody needs to be protected.

He loves everything about her. But is he ready to love her? To be _in_ love with her?

He shakes his head and swings his feet over the side of his bed. This can wait until after breakfast.

* * *

republished, edited. one more to come!


	4. for old time's sake

**Under New York City**

 **IV.** _ **For Old Time's Sake**_

 _(She thought this was home, but there's nothing here for her but heartbreak and exhaustion.)_

* * *

The day she comes back, she spends her entire plane ride trying to control her breathing. Sure, her transfer student college experience was great, but she's missed her friends. She misses how Lucas would leave her food when he didn't have time to wait for her to wake up, and she'd missed how Riley would always set up a mattress of pillows for when Maya would inevitably roll off her bed in the middle of the night.

She gets off the airplane, exhausted, and looks around. Her mom's not there, not that she expected her to be. Still, it would've been nice to see a familiar face.

"Maya!"

She smiles, turning around. There's her familiar face.

"Hey, Riles." She takes a few small steps forward before Riley wraps her arms around her in a crushing hug.

"Air, honey." She chuckles. "I need air."

"Sorry!" Riley takes a few steps back, looking her up and down. "Wow."

"What?"

"You got so tall!"

Maya rolls her eyes. "Don't mock me."

"No, really!" Riley continues. "What are you now, 5'2"?"

Maya scoffs. "I wish. Is anyone else here?"

 _Is Lucas here?_

"Don't worry, Maya, your boyfriend will be here." Riley teases. Maya rolls her eyes.

Still, she can't help but beam when he shows up.

.

.

Riley's car is full of fast food wrappers and loose change, same as it was before Maya left. She slides into the passenger seat while Lucas lifts her bags into the trunk.

"I can't believe you're finally back!" Riley leans over to Maya for another hug. "We missed you so much, Peaches, there's so much we need to tell you!"

"Riley, you're choking her."

"She's fine!"

Maya chuckles and settles into her seat as the car starts. Riley launches into her first story, something about hiding Missy's new cat from the campus police. Every few seconds she glances back over, as if she's making sure Maya's still there.

"And then Lucas—" Riley glances at Lucas through the rear view mirror. "Do you want to tell her or should I tell her? No, nevermind, you tell her."

"What am I telling her?"

"Forget it, I'll tell her." Riley brings her eyes back to the road. "So Lucas wanted to help out, y'know? So he took his pocket knife and opened the air duct and we put the cat up _there_ …"

Maya snorts. "Good ol' Huckleberry, always prepared to help a pretty girl's cat."

Lucas rolls his eyes. "You know me."

Riley glances back and forth between them for a few seconds. "Was that a euphemism?"

(Maya snorts again, then breaks out into laughter. Lucas's face burns as he shakes his head and tells Riley that _no, it was not a euphemism, Maya's just being a dork_.)

.

.

It takes a while for Maya to settle back into her dorm.

According to Riley, her replacement roommate hadn't been half as good as Maya.

"She was always using all the milk and putting the empty container back into the fridge." Riley complains. "And she actually threatened to throw away my ketchup if I kept putting it on my mac n' cheese."

"She sounds awful." Maya grins. "But I'm still never forgiving you for doing that."

.

.

The next morning, she wakes up three hours late and has to sprint to her third class.

(Stupid _fucking_ time difference.)

.

.

She doesn't really talk to Lucas.

It feels wrong, somehow, to be here and not be with him. But he seems busier than when she left.

He's changed a lot more than she thought he would. He's taller, duh, but also more confident. More outspoken, willing to challenge people like he wouldn't have before.

She probably should have known. _You can't expect everyone to be the same as they were a year ago_ , she tells herself. And yet, she didn't expect _this_.

Lucas walking around campus with his new friends. Swinging his arm over Missy Bradford's shoulder. Coming to their dorm at night with different lipsticks on his neck and chin.

It's hard not to love him, and she doesn't _want_ to be jealous. But she is, and this sucks, and she misses California and her Lucas-free life.

Who cares, anyway? Who cares if he's got new friends? He came to the airport, didn't he? Just for her. He's gotta remember how close they were. He's probably just… busy.

.

.

"You should talk to him." Riley tells her. "He's been mopey lately."

"He doesn't _seem_ mopey." Maya drops a straw into her soda. "Besides, I've got Josh."

"I know you do." Riley says. "I was just suggesting it. You need to make an effort if you want to keep your old friends."

"He's the one who needs to make an effort." Maya argues stubbornly.

Still, she texts Lucas and gets him to hang out in her dorm for an hour before her afternoon classes begin.

(For old time's sake.)

.

.

Disappointingly, Riley still refuses to let Maya keep alcohol in their room.

"C'mon, Riles." Maya protests, but Riley shuts her down.

"If we had beer you'd be getting drunk 24/7." She says. "We can have fun without it, can't we?"

"Whatever." Maya huffs. "Let's go out, then. We haven't gone out since I've been back. It can be like a celebration."

Riley hums undecidedly. "Okay, fine. But no vodka tonight. I really don't feel like cleaning up your puke again, even if it's been a year."

Maya nods. "Promise."

.

.

She feels like shit.

Riley buzzes nervously around the dorm, full of agitated energy. Her presence isn't as soothing as Maya had hoped it would be.

"Riles, calm down." She whispers. "Everything's okay."

" _How_ is everything okay, Maya?" Riley flops into a desk chair. " _Nothing_ is okay. I don't know what to do."

"Thanks for the pep talk, babe." Maya grunts. "You don't have to do anything. Just stay here with me."

Riley sighs heavily. She spins the chair around a few times before joining Maya on the bed.

"I just wish I could do something." She murmurs.

Maya shakes her head. "Family shouldn't fight family. And I don't want you fighting anyone. Please, Riles."

The pillowcase rustles as Riley nods. "I love you, Peaches."

"Love you too."

.

.

Oh god.

Oh god oh god.

She should've known he would do this.

"What were you thinking?" Riley shrieks.

"What was _I_ thinking?" Lucas asks incredulously. "You were the one who told me to do something!"

"You did _what_?" Maya turns to Riley. "Why would you do that?"

"I didn't tell him to do _this_!" Riley defends. "I just said he should do… I don't know! Something!"

"Everyone calm down!" Zay waves his hands frantically. "Okay? Okay."

Lucas rolls his eyes. "Yeah, thanks Zay. Who the hell are you, John Green?"

Zay narrows his eyes, but says nothing.

"Look, yeah, I beat Josh up." Lucas says, quieter. "He said some stuff… And I got mad. I didn't mean to, but I don't regret it."

Maya shakes her head, eyes blazing. "Of course you don't."

She shakes her head again.

Then she hugs him.

.

.

Paint paint paint.

Everywhere. Everything.

She tears through canvases like a hurricane, crazed and unstoppable. She's inspired. It's exhilarating.

Lucas sits behind her as she works.

.

.

"Missy dumped Lucas!"

Maya spins lazily in her desk chair. "Sorry?"

Riley bounces in place, too excited to hold still. "Missy Bradford dumped Lucas for Lucy Shields!"

Maya blinks. "Is he okay?"

"Oh he's _fine_." Riley crosses the room in two strides, seating herself on Maya's lap. "Happy, probably."

"You're crushing me."

"You're not listening, Maya! Lucas is _available_."

"Oh." Maya is silent for a moment. " _Oh_. Riley, no way. He's not going out with me, he's never going out with me."

"But why?!" Riley shifts around to face Maya. "He's clearly into you, and you obviously like him."

"I do not." Maya argues.

"Yes you do, don't even pretend." Riley sighs. "Just think about it, okay?"

Maya doesn't say yes.

(She doesn't say no, either.)

.

.

She thinks about it.

She thinks about it a lot.

.

.

She gets a D on her English paper.

The paper she'd worked on for weeks. The paper she'd been so sure would save her grade. The paper she'd checked and double checked until she was sure it was good enough.

And it wasn't good enough.

"It's just one paper, Maya." Lucas tells her. "There will be others."

She shrugs. "Whatever, Huckleberry, I don't really care. Grades are dumb, anyway."

"I'm sure they'll let you redo it. Professor Burgess is pretty lax about that kind of stuff."

"I said I don't care." Maya snaps. "It doesn't matter, it's just a stupid grade. Let's go to Please Don't Tell."

"Is now really a good time to get drunk?"

She rolls her eyes. "It's always a good time to get drunk."

.

.

PDT is packed when they get there.

It's always crowded. It's the best low-budget cocktail bar in New York City.

She leads him to the bar and orders two Koyos.

The rest of the night is a blur.

.

.

She really hates road trips.

Packed cars always make her feel cramped. They remind her of moving. Place to place, once, twice, maybe three times in a year until her and her mother had finally found a place to stay.

She _hates_ road trips.

But maybe this one isn't so bad.

Lucas hums along to the radio as they make their way to Katy Hart's house. A box of presents for the family (mostly artwork) rattles around in the trunk. Flecks of snow collect on the windshield, white and magical, then watery and gone.

"You can stay, y'know." Maya says. "Once we get there. I know you couldn't get a flight out to see your family."

Lucas glances over at her. "You sure?"

"Sure." Maya nods. "Mom and I always get a little lonely, anyway."

Lucas thinks for a moment. "Okay. I'll stay."

Her mom is friendly when they arrive, and she easily lies and tells her mother that the Matthews took a trip to Hawaii. Lucas plays along.

(After dinner they watch Christmas classics on her mother's 16 inch TV.)

.

.

She's reading Birdsall's _The Penderwicks on Gardam Street_ when he wakes up. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, staring at her expectantly.

"Oh, Huckleberry. You're up." She sets her book on the bed. "I made you food."

He makes some snarky comment about how her "food" is cereal and a fruit bowl, and she rolls her eyes and gives him his present anyway. He opens it and goes off on some rant about how _Canon has the best quality film cameras_ and _blah blah blah, I'm a fucking camera geek_ , but it comes together at the end when he sets down the camera and gives her a thank you hug.

.

.

She takes his hand on one of their morning jogs.

If he notices, she doesn't see it. She just stares straight ahead.

(Who cares what he thinks?)

.

.

"Hart!"

She spins to find Zay smiling charmingly.

"What do you want, Babineaux?" She grunts.

"Party tonight at PDT." He hands her a flyer. "It's gonna be a rager. You should come."

"Gamma Gamma Nu?" She scoffs. "What are you, their agent?"

"Come on, Maya. It won't be the same without you. Besides, this ain't just any Gamma Gamma party." He points to the flyer again.

"Third Annual Gamma Gamma Nu End of the World party?" She shakes her head. "God, what a mouthful."

"I know, I know, but they said it's tradition. Besides, they rented out the whole bar. It's gonna be great."

Maya shrugs. "Maybe I'll show up. If I've got nothing better to do."

"Trust me, kid." Zay smirks, already backing away. "You'll be there."

.

.

"You sure you don't want to come with me?"

"Yes, Maya, I'll be fine all by my lonesome. Frat parties aren't really my thing."

"They're not mine, either, babe."

"So stay here."

"I already promised Babineaux I'd go. Besides, it might be fun."

"Sure, Maya. Be safe."

.

.

The room is spinning.

Or she's spinning.

Everything is spinning.

Brandon bounces next to her. His hair flops into his face.

Everything smells like tequila.

What is she having? She doesn't know.

Zay tells the bartender to make it a double.

Lucy doing body shots off of Missy in the corner.

They look happy.

Zay orders another round.

.

.

She wakes up and her mouth tastes like death. Someone had the brains to close the shades before the morning light blinded her. Is this what a coma feels like? Can she move? Is she moving?

"Peaches?" Riley swims into her vision. "You okay?"

"Hung." Maya states. "Over."

"Yeah, sweetie, I know." Riley smiles. The bed sinks as she sits down. Maya closes her eyes again.

"What time is it?" She asks.

"It's four in the afternoon."

"Water?"

"Right here."

Riley helps her sits up. The water does nothing to wash away the taste in her mouth.

"Thanks, Riles." She says gratefully. "You're the best."

"Aww…" Riley smiles. "I know."

"What happened?" Maya asks. "I don't remember leaving."

"Zay called Lucas to get you once the party died down." Riley says. "You shouldn't have drank that much, Maya, it's dangerous."

"I know, I'm sorry." Maya groans. "Lucas picked me up?"

"Yeah. He dropped you off at at three."

"Thank him for me?"

"Do it yourself."

But Maya's already asleep.

.

.

She's confused.

Is he being weird? Is she being weird? Did something happen?

'Cause it feels a lot like he's blowing her off.

.

.

"Fuckin' hell I'm bored."

She glances up to find him pacing the room.

"What's the matter, Huckleberry?" She drawls. "Did you run out of things to take angsty pictures of?"

"Shut up, Maya." He tosses a pillow in her direction. "Zay was supposed to meet me on the diamond for a game, but he bailed."

She raises her eyebrows. "Baseball?"

"Yeah, baseball." He sighs heavily. "He was supposed to help me practice my swing."

"I could pitch to you." She says offhandedly.

"Sure, Maya." He laughs. "Like you play baseball."

"I do." She sits up, swinging her legs off the foot of the couch. "I did, anyway. In my junior year."

"For real?" Lucas seems surprised. "Were you any good?"

"Good enough." She stretches her arms over her head, standing. "Come on, Bucky, I could use some exercise."

Lucas grins and grabs a bat and a glove.

.

.

"Wow." Maya whistles. "This is a throwback."

"I thought you remembered it."

"I thought you wanted my help."

Lucas raises his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Let's go."

Maya treks out to the pitcher's mound. Lucas's glove is big and bulky on her hand, but she thinks she can work with it. She tosses the ball a few times before setting up.

"And here comes the windup." She says to herself. "She pitches a clean cutter straight down the middle of the field."

She can hear Lucas's commentary as the ball sails towards him.

"Friar swings the bat — the ball flies deep into left field! It's gone!"

She laughs. "Not quite _gone_ , Friar."

"And your cutter wasn't _that clean_ , Hart."

She shrugs. "Fair enough. Let's go again."

.

.

It's late when they get back. Lucas takes his bat and glove and saunters across the hall to his dorm — probably still proud about his rotational swing, whatever that means. Maya rolls her eyes and pushes into her dorm.

Riley's fast asleep, fully decked out in her purple pajama dress. Maya thinks Riley's probably the only college student ever who is literally twenty and six years old at the same time.

She doesn't bother changing, her muscles already starting to ache from her time on the field with Lucas. She drops onto her bed, pulls the covers halfway over her, and stares at the glowing red numbers on their alarm clock.

"Don't think about him." She whispers to herself. "Just go to sleep."

(She can't.)

.

.

She likes to think that she's not the kind of girl to pine over someone.

And she's not. Really.

Not usually.

Usually, she's able to just go for it. She's not scared — she wasn't subtle with Billy, and she sure as hell wasn't subtle with Josh. Maybe she doesn't even like Lucas.

But maybe she does.

He's such a good guy. Not at all like anyone she's ever dated before. And he's sexy, sure, but that's not news to anyone.

She just… enjoys spending time with him.

Weird.

.

.

Things slowly go back to normal between them.

She's happy, really she is. Whatever happened in the aftermath of the End of the World seems to be forgotten. But something feels wrong.

Normal doesn't feel as good as it used to.

* * *

 _yeah, i kind of dropped this fandom. i'm not sorry for that, but i am very sorry for not updating for so long. chapter five will be up shortly, it's already halfway written. my writing style has evolved a lot over the last few months, and though i tried to keep this as close to the original style as possible, i don't think i managed very well. whatever, this account's dead as soon as this story's over._


End file.
